


Thanks, Kid

by parkeratheart



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Anger, Apologies, Comfort, Deaths of Howard and Maria Stark, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Frustration, Grief, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, I'm Bad At Tagging, Mourning, Not the way you'd think, Peter Comforts Tony, Peter and Tony hug, Peter's literal heart of gold, Sorry if this feels rushed, Tony Stark Cries, Tony Stark Gets a Hug, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony is kind rude when he's in a mad mood, You gotta love Peter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-17
Updated: 2018-08-17
Packaged: 2019-06-28 22:33:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15716439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parkeratheart/pseuds/parkeratheart
Summary: It's hard when it's the anniversary of your parents' murders.It's harder when the person who murdered them is your friend's best friend.It's the hardest when they just enter your house on the anniversary, oblivious to what that day is for you.





	Thanks, Kid

Tony would consider himself very good at hiding his feelings.

There was no point in showing his sadness or something if it would ultimately end up making other people sad.

But there was always one specific day of the year when it was harder than ever.

December 16th.

This particular December 16th was going to be very tough, and Tony knew this the moment Steve brought Bucky through the door.

It was already a shitty day. Tony woke up with sweat pooling on his sheets and lay there for an hour, unmoving but awake. To make things worse, he stubbed his toe walking into the kitchen and burned himself making coffee.

Tony’s eyes popped open wide. The bright light from the chandelier glinted off Bucky’s metal hand. The arm itself was covered in a black shirt sleeve.

_(Bucky’s metal hand clasping around Maria’s throat. She pounded on it with her fists before her eyes fluttered closed and she slumped back against the back of the car’s seat.)_

Tony stood straight up and made a beeline for his room, desperately needing to take out his anger somewhere else.

“Where you going?” Steve asked when Tony passed him.

Tony froze in his tracks and summoned all his self-control to not drive his fist into Steve's stomach. "Fuck. You."

“Whoa, what’s up?” He was _completely_ oblivious.

Tony didn’t respond. He continued walking towards his room. The white socks on his feet made the thumping of his footsteps softer. He tried to focus on the sound and not the thought of Bucky’s hand around Maria’s throat, the image burned into the backs of his eyelids.

He nearly broke the door down trying to get in there so fast. Tony sat himself down at the end of his bed and ran his fingers through his hair, trying to calm himself down. Deep breaths came out of his mouth in heavy puffs.

 _Think of something else,_ he told himself.

The knock on the door made him jump. “Fuck off, Steve!” he barked.

“It’s not Steve,” came the high-pitched voice.

_Oh shit._

“Are you Peter?”

“Yeah. I didn’t see you this morning. It’s noon now. Are you okay?” the teenager’s voice went. Tony could see the shadows of where his feet were from the crack under the door. He was shifting on them nervously.

“I’m fine, kid, I just have to . . .” He had to do what? Grieve? Try to get his mind off the glint on Bucky’s silver arm? Try to forget the bloodshot eyes of his mother when Steve’s best friend choked the life out of her? “. . . I just have to take a breather.”

“Can I come in?” The boy’s voice was slightly muffled by the barrier in between them which was the door. Tony opened his mouth to respond, but the door handle twisted and the door opened a couple inches. Peter’s expression held concern and worry. 

“I’m not in the world’s most grand mood ever right now,” Tony said. “Please leave, kid.”

“What’s wrong?” Peter asked, bowling right over the request. He stepped into the room. A grey, loose long-sleeved shirt covered his top half. Dark blue jeans hugged his legs. Peter’s hair wasn’t done. His curls stuck out all over the place, but it kind of looked fine.

Tony ran a hand down his face. “I don't want to talk about it, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

Peter’s hand didn’t leave the door handle. “Okay. But, something is wrong?”

“Something that no one can fix,” Tony muttered. “Please leave.”

Peter looked down sadly. He gripped the door handle, white-knuckled. “You always tell me to talk about my problems,” Peter tried. “I just want to help you.”

“You can’t help!” Tony snapped, and half a second later wanted to slam his head into a wall.

“No, I can’t. I can’t if you don’t let me,” Peter said with a steadiness that Tony didn't know the bubbly teenager possessed.

“But, I-I guess I’ll leave if you want me to,” Peter said softly, his normal tone returning. He stepped out the door. “I’m here if you need anything.” Then he closed the door. The handle clicked back to its normal position and the quiet footsteps leading to the living room indicated the teenager had left.

Tony hurled his pillow across the room. It smacked against the wall and flopped onto the ground. It sustained no marks. He clamped his hand over his mouth to hold back any screams that wanted to emerge and flopped back into his bed. He breathed out hard through his nose and tried to calm his racing heart.

When Tony left his room for the kitchen—because God, hunger really did a number on you—no one was there. He silently thanked whatever was out there and got some coffee, because coffee was the first thing that came to mind.

He sighed, watching the machine do its thing.

“Tony?”

He gripped the counter.

_Oh God._

“Hi.” Peter was now standing a couple feet away. His fists were slightly clenched at his sides and he kept shifting on the balls of his feet nervously. “Are you- are you okay?” He added with a slight waver to his voice, “I’m- I’m sorry about intruding.”

“You didn’t intrude,” Tony said, hoping his was as firm and steady as it sounded in his head. He kept his eyes on the machine. _Come on, coffee._ “And I’m fine.”

Peter looked down. “I- I don’t think you are.”

“Are you some sort of expert on me now?” Tony shot back, and then wanted to smack his head on the counter.

The boy just shook his head. “I just have a feeling.” He shifted again. “I’m- I’m good at feelings. I’m not like, an expert, but I’m good.”

Breathing out when the coffee finished, Tony rummaged through the cupboard for a mug and clasped his shaky hand around it.

“Can you just talk to me?” Peter pleaded, reaching out and his fingertips touched Tony’s arm. He flinched at the contact. Peter’s hand quickly pulled back.

The billionaire didn’t adhere to Peter’s request. Instead, he filled the mug and went for his room again.

Peter wasn’t one to refuse to Tony. He wasn’t one to not listen to him.

So, feeling his hand close around his wrist tightly was surprising.

“Stop,” he said firmly.

Tony did.

“Please, stop doing this. You’re only going to make things worse.”

Letting out a sigh of frustration, Tony slammed his mug down on the counter to his left and he turned to face Peter. “Fine. What do you wanna know?”

Peter’s hand retracted from Tony’s wrist and he nodded. “Oh thank God. Okay. So, what’s going on?”

The same sigh of frustration escaped. “Steve didn’t tell you?”

“Steve didn’t say anything about you,” Peter said.

 _He still hasn’t figured it out?_ Tony thought, bewildered. _Seriously?_

“Well, I mean, he said you were in a weird mood, so I went to go and see how you were doing,” Peter corrected quickly.

“December 16th, 1991 is the day that Steve’s pal Bucky strangled my mother to death and punched it out of my dad,” Tony said bluntly, a lump forming in his throat. Peter’s eyes widened. “So, yeah. Seeing the guy wasn’t exactly my idea of a good day would go.”

Tony turned away from Peter, pressing his forehead against the wall, eyes burning. He wasn’t sure if it was tears or frustration, but he sincerely hoped it was the latter.

A warm drop fell down his face. _Stop._ Once it came, more followed. _Stop._

Peter’s hand was then on his shoulder gently. Peter couldn’t see his face. He couldn’t see his painfully embarrassing tears. Tony hated himself. Now was not the time for crying.

“Look at me?” Peter asked.

“No,” Tony said flatly, impressed by how normal his voice sounded. “I-I can’t do that.”

“Can I just . . .” Peter didn't finish as the his arms gently pulled Tony into a hug. 

It dawned on Tony that Peter might be the only one who understood what he was going through.

Since he had lost his parents and his uncle.

Tony brought his arms around Peter’s shoulders and could not stop a couple tears from escaping his eyes no matter how hard he tried. It had been years since someone was there for him like Peter. Especially about his parents’ murder.

The tears landed on the Peter’s shoulder.

“Hey, everything's going to be okay," Peter said gently.

Tony choked on a sob and immediately wanted to crawl into a hole and eat rocks alone in the dark.

The truth was, crying made Tony feel weak and it embarrassed him colossally. The last time he remembered crying around someone was years and years ago, this same day, for this same reason. It was to Pepper. A good eight years ago.

“You're gonna be okay,” Peter whispered, tightening his grip. 

Tony closed his eyes and let the warm embrace calm him the hell down.

“Thanks, kid.”

“I’m sorry about your parents.”

Tony choked on another sob and a couple more tears slid down his face. _Stop crying._

“I- I know how you feel,” Peter whispered. He didn’t stop there. “My- my uncle was murdered in front of me. And- and my parents died in a plane crash. It’s- it’s not as bad as yours, though. At least I never have to see the guy that killed Ben again. And- and I don’t have to see him on the anniversary.”

Tony finally gathered the audacity to pull away and wipe his face with the back of his hand. Wonderful. Now Peter Parker had seen him cry, which was something Tony never would have thought would happen. But if he had to break down in front of someone, Peter would be one of his first choices.

Peter looked down, unsure of what to say next.

“Thank you,” Tony said sincerely. He couldn’t take this anymore, so he walked to his room.

“I’m always here,” came Peter’s voice, and Tony stopped.

“I know you are. Thanks, kid.” He gave Peter a tiny smile before going to his room and letting the rest of the tears roll down his cheeks.

**Author's Note:**

> There aren't a lot of fics I've read where Tony's the one who gets comforted by Peter. Usually it's vice versa. So I thought to myself, 'self, you should write one of those.' So I did. Hope you enjoyed!!
> 
> Reviews and kudos are always appreciated!
> 
> (Edited March 18th 2019)


End file.
